


The Adventures of Tiny Chris Pine

by rabidchild67



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Crack, Established Relationship, M/M, Shrinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-18
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-21 14:39:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2471882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidchild67/pseuds/rabidchild67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris is tiny. Hilarity ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [steammmpunk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/steammmpunk/gifts).



> Based on this bit of fanart:
> 
> http://zqpeene.tumblr.com/post/100218196282/how-to-lure-tiny-pine-into-your-loving-arms-you-by

Zach woke to the pleasant warmth of early morning sun on his face, sighing contentedly. He wriggled down further into the clean-smelling sheets even as he allowed the bright birdsong outside the window to bring him more fully awake. Lifting his arms from under the covers, he stretched languidly, rolling over onto his back – and then immediately tensed at the sensation of a small, warm body struggling beneath him.

“What the – Harold!” he exclaimed, sitting up. But his cat lay at the foot of the bed where he usually took up space, blinking at Zach sleepily. 

“Harold?“ Zach gaped at the animal.

“Hey man,” a small, outraged voice protested behind him, and Zach looked over at Chris – except Chris was not there in the bed beside him.

Zach glanced around the room. “Babe?”

The sound of struggling beneath the covers got his attention, and he looked on in fascinated horror as a small lump began to move around beneath the covers. He’d seen enough horror movies to know he didn't want to wait to find out what it was, so he threw the covers back – and found himself staring down at a tiny version of his boyfriend. 

“The hell?!” Chris yelled. 

Zach blinked, astonished. Chris was on his knees, naked, and appeared to have been shrunken down to a height of eleven or twelve inches. He was nestled amid the folds of the t-shirt he’d worn to bed, fists resting on his hips, and glaring up at Zach. “Chris?”

Chris’s anger quickly diminished as realization dawned. He looked around himself, at the relative mountain of bedding piled beside him and at Zach looming over him, then fainted dead away.

\----

“Wake up. Wake up, wake up, wake up,” Zach urged as he leaned over Chris’s limp form on the bed, pressing gently on his tiny shoulder and wondering if any kind of CPR might be necessary and how, exactly, he’d perform it. Thankfully, he didn't have to ponder the effects rescue breathing might have on a set of 1-inch lungs, because Chris soon stirred. 

“Mmmf,” Chris moaned. 

“Chris,” Zach said with relief, caressing the small face with a knuckle.

Chris leaned into the touch and opened his eyes. “Zach?” His voice was small and tinny, as if it was being broadcast over an old telephone receiver, but it was still undeniably his. “What happened?”

“I don’t know – I mean, you were fine when we went to bed last night.” Except he hadn’t been – he’d complained of feeling strange and light-headed and had turned in at 8:30. They’d both chalked it up to a mild case of heat stroke or exhaustion – they’d spent the day in the sun, helping Zoë plant a vegetable patch, and Chris, with his usual enthusiasm for working in the soil, had overdone it. “I mean, mostly fine – right?” Zach added.

Chris tried to sit up, but the soft bedding beneath him made it difficult. Zach helped him sit up with a gentle nudge to the middle of his back. 

“How do you feel now?”

“You mean except for the fact I’m about the size of a Ken doll? I feel like a million bucks!” Chris said bitterly. He looked down at himself. “I don’t even know where to begin to feel about this.”

“Well, like, maybe it’s only temporary,” Zach said, sitting up himself. A gentle nudge at his elbow alerted him to Harold’s presence; he raised his arm to let the cat get closer, knowing that in a moment Harold would flop down against his hip for snuggles and head skritches, a frequent ritual of theirs. 

But not today. When Harold caught sight of Chris, he tensed, back arching and tail whipping about as his ears laid back against his head and he _growled_.

“Harold!” Zach admonished, but the feline advanced on Chris, paw raised and claws bared, spitting menacingly.

Chris crawled backwards and away, a look of terror on his face. Zach gathered the hissing cat into his arms and scrambled out of the bed, struggling to open the door while keeping a hold on Harold. He took him to the laundry room where the litter box was and quickly closed the door before Harold could escape. When he returned to the bedroom, he found Noah half atop it, sniffing at Chris with interest. Chris, for his part, was trying to burrow under the pillows completely.

“Noah! Get down!” Zach ordered, and the dog backed off immediately. “Sorry,” Zach said, sitting back down on the bed. “He’ll be OK – he’s just curious. Chris?” 

Chris stayed under the pillow, unseen.

“Babe?” Zach pulled the pillow back to find Chris curled up in the fetal position, arms over his head and shaking. “Hey,” he said softly, touching Chris gently on the back. Chris flinched but then turned over, clutching at Zach’s hand desperately. Making a sympathetic noise, Zach gently scooped him up and held him against his chest, where he grasped onto Zach’s t-shirt and buried his small face in the soft cotton. This close up, and with a moment to truly observe him, Zach saw that he was utterly and perfectly Chris, complete with morning bed-head and stubble, except impossibly tiny now. He didn't know what happened and he didn't know what to do about it, but he had to say something. “It’ll be OK,” he said as reassuringly as he could, holding the small body protectively and leaning forward to kiss him on top of his head. 

“Yeah?” said a tiny, muffled voice.

“Yeah.”


	2. Chris vs. Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zach makes breakfast.

“OK, so, first things first, how about some breakfast?”

“Wh-what?” Chris asked, surreptitiously wiping his nose on Zach’s t-shirt before turning a tear-stained face up at him.

“You know how you get, and the dogs will need their breakfast too.”

Zach rose and left the room with Chris still cradled against him, hanging onto Zach’s t-shirt with both hands. The dogs, who’d been patiently waiting outside the door, trotted after them eagerly. Zach could tell they knew something odd and different was going on, because they usually ran off ahead of him to the kitchen to wait by their food bowls, but Skunk stayed right at his heels, hopping up and trying to get a sniff in. 

Zach set Chris down on the counter while he went to feed the dogs, who, instead of following Zach to the pantry where their food was kept, remained seated patiently in front of the counter, looking up at Chris with avid interest.

“Um, I’m still me, dog-dudes, just, you know, smaller.” He made shooing gestures with his hands. “Go to your dad and eat your breakfast. Go.” When they didn't comply, he looked up at Zach helplessly. 

“Noah! Skunk!” Zach called in his most stern voice, the one that meant business, and each dog’s head turned. “Come.”

They trotted over reluctantly and Zach took them out to the deck, where he set their bowls down as well as some water and closed the sliding door behind him. 

“Hungry?”

“Starving.”

“Coffee?”

The look that crossed Chris’s face – one of abject need and desperation – told Zach all he needed to know. He filled the reservoir with water and ground the beans, hit the start button and went to the fridge to contemplate breakfast options. 

When he glanced over at Chris, he was standing beside the coffee maker with his hands out, clearly trying to absorb some of its warmth. It was mid-Spring – pretty warm to Zach and by Pittsburgh standards, but chilly in the house in the mornings. Zach could have kicked himself for leaving Chris naked atop the Italian marble. Looking around, all he could see were dishtowels, and having just moved into Chris’s house, he was still unfamiliar with where a lot of things were. Pulling out a few drawers, he found the ones that contained a variety of table linens, and amongst them some napkins of a dark, soft-looking material. He brought one to Chris, holding it out. “Here.”

“What?”

“You look cold – I thought you’d want something.”

Chris looked at the thing appraisingly, as if weighing his basic need for clothing against the indignity of wearing something embroidered with tiny holly sprigs, and seemed to fall on the side of seasonal frivolity. He held his arms out and accepted the thing, unfolding it as if it was a large blanket, and getting to work. 

Zach returned to the fridge, musing idly at its contents. “How’s spelt pancakes sound?”

“I could eat my weight in pancakes, man.”

Zach nodded and didn't think about the fact that that would not be a lot of pancakes. At all.

A few minutes later, with the batter mixed and the pan heating, Zach glanced over to find Chris putting the finishing touches on a makeshift toga that was perhaps a bit voluminous, but seemed to get the job done. “Better?”

Chris shrugged. “Better than naked. Is that coffee ready? I’m dying over here.”

Zach nodded and grabbed two mugs out of the cupboard, filling both and then preparing one with milk and sugar for Chris. Chris wandered over and looked at it, then at Zach, then at the mug. “I’m having a problem with the logistics here…”

“Oh, shit – I’m sorry!” Zach looked around the kitchen, wracking his brains to think of something appropriate. “Ah ha!” He unscrewed the plastic cap on the carton of soy milk and spooned some of Chris’s coffee into it. Taking another mug, he inverted it on the counter and set the cap on top of it. “Voila.”

“Quick thinking,” Chris said, clearly impressed. The cap was still as large as his face, but he was able to maneuver it well enough. He picked it up with both hands and took a sip, a blissed-out expression on his face.

A little while later, Zach settled them both at the kitchen island, Chris with his coffee and a pile of tiny pancakes in front of him that were little more than drips in the pan when Zach made them. He’d put them on an inverted soy sauce dish from a sushi set Chris never used, with a tiny sliver of butter and a dollop of maple syrup on top.

“This looks really good,” Chris commented, and Zach smiled proudly at the compliment to his quick thinking. He tucked into his breakfast, and was chewing his first mouthful when he glanced over at Chris, who was unsuccessfully trying to gnaw on the blueberry that Zach had placed on the side as a garnish.

“Something wrong?”

“Skin’s too tough.” 

Zach deflated – he’d thought he’d worked out all of what Chris’s needs would be, but clearly he had not “You want me to cut it up?”

“Could you?” Chris asked, grateful.

After breakfast, Zach was finishing washing the dishes when he got an idea. “Want a shower?” 

Ten minutes later, Chris hopped into the kitchen sink, where Zach had switched the faucet to the spray option. “Warm enough?”

“Oh, God, yeah.”

“Here.” Zach picked up a bottle of Chris’s favorite shampoo and let a drop fall onto his outstretched hands. Chris washed his hair, used a bit of handsoap for his body, then rinsed off. Zach shut off the faucet and handed him a washcloth from the bathroom to dry himself with, then lifted him out. “Here – I thought you might like this,” Zach said, holding up a bottle of Chris’s favorite brand of Argan oil.

“Aw, babe, that’s really nice,” Chris said appreciatively.

Zach removed the bottle’s cap and filled it about half way, then turned away to pour himself another cup of coffee. When he turned around, Chris was attempting to dress himself with the napkin again, and Zach had an idea. “You know what? Hang on for just a few minutes, I’ll be right back.”

\----

“I look like a complete douche,” Chris complained, forlornly holding his arms out to the side, and he wasn’t wrong. Zach had snuck next door to raid the neighbor’s kids’ backyard playhouse, and had returned with the only thing he could find.

“I dunno, Malibu Ken always seemed to work it.” Chris wore a pair of khaki shorts that were way too tight – Ken had almost no ass, God – and a canary yellow shirt with a Hawaiian floral print in bright fuchsia and green. “At least it’s a proper shirt.”

“It’s itchy. And it smells like coconut.”

“It’s temporary. Now – I thought we might try to figure out what happened to you and see what we can do to fix it, OK?”

Chris nodded. “OK.”


	3. Chris vs. His Metabolism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some research, some more realities of Chris's situation

Zach glanced at Chris, who sat in front of his iPhone, tapping out search terms as they both tried to research what might have happened to Chris. Zach had propped it up on a book for him, so he could have easier access to it. He got better at typing into the keypad once he decided to use both hands, and he was sitting in front of it in a lotus position, leaning forward and surfing the web with a look of utter concentration on his face.

So far, they were having little luck. Zach thought it might be something mystical, such as a curse or spell, but Chris was convinced it had to be physiological. Either way, all they were finding besides fantasy stories were references to legends and myths – but nothing concrete.

Two hours later, Zach was feeling frustrated with the lack of anything to go on, and Chris was just beginning to look droopy. “You OK?”

“I dunno, I was thinking about the bulbs?”

“The… bulbs?”

“For the tulips.”

“What?”

“If you don’t get them in before the first frost, then forget them flowering in the spring.”

“Chris… it _is_ spring…” .Zach looked at him carefully – his eyes seemed unable to focus and the skin around them looked drawn. 

“Spring forward, fall back.”

“Babe?” Zach tried hard to keep the alarm out of his voice, but Chris was beginning to scare him.

“When’s lunch?”

And that’s when it occurred to Zach – he had seen Chris like this one other time, when they’d been filming the first Trek reboot together years before. It was the Thursday before President’s Day, and JJ had promised Friday off if they could only get this one sequence nailed down, which would put them ahead of schedule. They’d been going pretty hard, and the idea of a long weekend was so appealing that everyone volunteered to work through lunch. By the end of an active day, though, Chris’s blood sugar had bottomed out and he’d gotten shaky and weird, fumbling and slurring his words. Later, he’d confessed to Zach that he got hypoglycemic sometimes, and that a shot of pure sugar was the best thing to snap him out of it. Ever since then, Zach had been careful to make sure Chris always had a snack with him.

The fact it had been barely two hours since they’d had breakfast was slightly alarming, but Zach wasn’t going to take any chances. Casting about the kitchen, he noticed a small canister of Jelly Bellies that Chris’s sister had brought by the week before. It was nearly Easter and they were Chris’s favorite. Zach opened it up and grabbed a few, then paused as he contemplated their size relative to Chris’s. Grabbing a paring knife from the butcher’s block, he minced it as small as he could manage and held the bits out in his palm for Chris. 

“Here ya go,” he said calmly.

Chris looked up at him, then down at his hand. “You’re big.”

“Uh-huh. You want some jelly beans?”

Chris smiled pleasantly. “Please.” He took a few of the pieces and put one in his mouth. “Mmm, peach.”

“Have some more,” Zach offered.

When he had consumed about half the bean, Chris seemed to come out of it. “What… happened?” he asked, blinking up at Zach.

“You mean generally or just now?” when Chris gave him A Look, he continued, “I think your blood sugar crashed – you were acting all weird.”

“Crap – I hate when that happens.” He ran a hand through his hair and looked exhausted. 

Zach took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I guess you’re kinda like a hummingbird now, you know? Or a shrew. Their metabolisms are so fast they have to eat constantly. We have to make sure you’ve always got food around, OK?”

Zach took a moment to chop up more jellybeans – luckily the pockets on Chris’s Ken doll cargo shorts were functional.

After lunch, Zach made arrangements to take Harold to his brother’s place for the duration. “Chris and I are driving upstate and taking the dogs,” he explained, and Joe didn't seem to think anything was strange about it. He left Chris in the bedroom with his iPhone in case he wanted to read or watch anything, and made sure to leave a footstool next to the bed so Chris could climb in and out. He also left him a small bowl of potato chip crumbs and a capful of Coke in case it was needed, then took off. The image of Chris intently studying a piece of media was not a new one to him, but the fact he was so small and looked so vulnerable in the vast expanse of their down-filled duvet hurt his heart. 

“The dogs are crated – I’ll be back in less than an hour, OK?” Zach called to him from the bedroom doorway.

“Sure, sure,” Chris said without looking up, and Zach took his leave.

On the drive back, Zach reflected on some of his research into the causes for Chris’s predicament. None of it was in the least bit helpful, though he did see a reference to a legend in African mythology about a man who had angered the gods being punished in such a way. He’d also seen references to Sicilian hexes and Afro-Caribbean voodoo charms, but he couldn’t think of a means or reason Chris might have angered anyone, though he thought it worth exploring. He resolved to retrace their steps over the last few days and put a call into Zoë. She didn't answer, so he left a voice mail.

He pulled into the driveway and looked up at the house he now called home. He had never regretted selling his own California house, and Chris’s place was homey and welcoming, the yard large enough for the dogs to run and play in, and Zach loved it. But by the time he’d asked Zach to move in, Chris had already lived here half a dozen years, had already decorated it and made a home. Zach didn't have much to contribute except for a few pieces of art from his New York condo, and he sometimes felt strangely out of sorts here. Being with Chris constantly made up for it, but he sometimes felt a twinge of regret that this was not a place where they could build their life together.

“I’m back!” he called out as he came through the door, tossing his keys into the carved shea wood bowl that sat on the table just inside the door. Zach suddenly remembered that the bowl was African in origin – Chris had bought it from an artist at the farmer’s market in Silver Lake years ago – and wondered how many items they encountered on a daily basis that might have held the spell or curse that had affected Chris. 

He didn't know when he became convinced this whole situation had a mystical origin – he always considered himself more a spiritual than religious person – but he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was.

“Chris?” he called out, heading for the stairs and walking slowly up. As he got closer to the top, he frowned – there had been no answer. “Chris?”

A small sound – a splash? – could be heard coming from somewhere. Zach walked quickly down the hallway to the master bedroom and pushed the door open. Chris was not where he’d left him on the bed. “Chris!” he called, suddenly alarmed.

He turned when he heard the splashing sound again – it was coming from the bathroom. He rushed over, fearing the worst. “Chris? Oh my God.”

Chris was in the toilet – well, half in the toilet, half hanging onto the seat – soaking wet and spitting mad. 

“What – what the hell happened?”

“When a man’s gotta go, a man’s gotta go, Zachary! What’s it look like happened? I fell in!”

“But I mean – surely it’s not that deep –“

“No, it’s not, but the insides of this stupid thing are slippery and slanted and I couldn’t climb out.”

Zach walked over and saw that his tiny pants were off. Zach’s cheeks burned with sympathetic embarrassment as he hurried to lift Chris out of there and set him on the vanity. “I’m sorry, I didn't even think – about that.”

“Yeah, well me neither. Did you know that toilet seats were really slanty?”

“I guess I do now. We’ll figure something else out. Cat litter, maybe.”

“Yeah, that’s not at all humiliating.”

“I’m sorry,” Zach repeated, stricken, and held out a dry washcloth for Chris.

“Not as much as me,” Chris replied, pulling his sodden doll clothes off with a look of disgust.


	4. Chris vs. Bedtime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ramekins.

“Wait a minute – how did you even get up there?”

Chris scowled. “It wasn’t easy – first I had to climb up the cabinets onto the vanity and then jump over to the toilet tank and shimmy down. God, this is so humiliating.” He sat down, heavily, onto the washcloth and pulled a corner of it to cover himself. 

“I’m –“

“Don’t say you’re sorry – do not! It just makes me feel worse!”

Zach bit his lip and sighed, leaving the room. He sat on the bed and tried not to think about what would happen if they couldn’t fix this. A few minutes later, he heard a scrabbling sound as, he imagined, Chris climbed down off the vanity. Chris walked into the bedroom with the washcloth wrapped around his torso like a sarong, tripping over the heavy folds occasionally. “I didn't mean to yell at you,” he said sincerely. “I just need to vent some frustration.” He stopped in the middle of the carpet, eyes wide. “This is just really hard.”

“I know. I wish I could just hold you and make it stop.”

They stared at each other for a long moment. “Could you hold me anyway?”

Zach slid off the bed to his knees and reached for Chris. Picking him up, he settled his head under his chin while Chris wrapped his arms around Zach’s neck and nestled his face against Zach’s warm skin. 

They stayed that way for a long time.

\----

Dinner was chicken and broccoli stir-fry; Zach cut the tiny buds off the florets so they’d fit in Chris’s mouth better, and gave him the skinny ends of a pair of toothpicks to use as chopsticks. There was a lot left over – Zach didn't think to adjust to cooking for one and a half – more like one and a tenth.

While Zach was cleaning up, he was struck with inspiration. He held up the tiny, two-ounce china ramekin he’d used to hold the minced garlic and ginger while cooking; it was half filled with sudsy water, but it made him think. He set it down on the counter beside the sink. 

“Chris – what do you think of this as a… I mean, if it was filled with water, it’s almost the perfect size to be… like, a toilet? For you?” He kind of lost steam at the end there, but it was a tough subject to broach given what had happened that afternoon.

Chris looked up at Zach, his face a blank.

“I mean, if it’s filled with water, it’s almost the same thing, right? After you’re done, I could just, I dunno, toss the water out?”

Chris stared at the ramekin and then at Zach. “I think it’s better than almost drowning every time I need to take a piss. Thank you, Zachary.”

Zach nodded and went back to doing the dishes.

\----

Re-introducing Chris to the dogs after dinner was thankfully not as fraught as their earlier encounter had been. Zach made sure the pups were fed and walked before letting them anywhere near Chris. 

Zach then left them to calm down in the living room before bringing Chris in, then sitting with Chris on his lap while the dogs sniffed at him curiously. Skunk seemed to be satisfied after a good, long inhale of Chris’s crotch; he went back to his pillow and settled down with a sigh. Noah, who had always loved Chris – sometimes more than him, Zach suspected – still seemed to find it somewhat confusing. He sniffed Chris and looked up at Zach with a whine, dancing from paw to paw.

“It’s OK, guy, it’s still me,” Chris urged, hopping down from Zach’s lap to stand on the edge of the couch, holding out his hands.

Noah sniffed them deeply, made a kind of moaning sound, then licked Chris’s hands with the tip of his tongue. Sitting down, he lowered his nose to press his snout against the couch, leaning his head up against Chris’s body. “Aww, that’s better,” Chris cooed, stepping in closer to wrap his arms around the dog’s head awkwardly. 

“Whoa! Noah – hey!” Chris exclaimed as the dog raised his head, forcing him to straddle his snout. Chris had to grab at handfuls of fur, but he managed to hang on well enough until Zach could rescue him. Noah sat down and panted.

“Put me down?” Chris asked, indicating the floor, and Zach did despite his trepidation. Chris once more held his hands out, making the gesture that meant that Noah was to lie down. He did, resting his head on his paws. Zach smiled as Chris stepped in close to stroke the dog’s ears and whisper sweet nothings soothingly, “Who’s a good boy? Who’s my good boy? You are! Yeaaaaahhh.”

Later, in bed, Zach sat against the pillows and watched TV while holding Chris’s Kindle against his bent knees. Chris sat on Zach’s belly and read, but given the stresses of the day, neither of them lasted very long.

“Sleep?” Zach suggested when Chris’s head lolled back against his chest.

Chris nodded and yawned, sliding off of Zach’s belly. He looked around. “How do we do this?”

“No idea.”

Zach lay down on his back, Chris in his own spot as usual; but the dip in the mattress caused by Zach’s body soon had him sliding down. “No, that’s not good – I’m afraid I’ll squish or smother you.”

Next, they tried laying one of Chris’s pillows down on the far corner of the bed, with Chris in the middle of it. “How’s that?” Zach asked.

“I don’t think it’ll work!” Chris called from inside the deep indentation in the eiderdown pillow his body created. The pillow shuddered as he tried to stand and failed. “It’s too soft!” his muffled voice admitted.

At last, Chris set up shop at the top corner of the King sized mattress, a bit of the duvet’s cover acting as a kind of sleeping bag. “I dunno, you’re too far away,” Chris said to Zach as they lay on their sides facing each other.

“It’s the only way you’re safe.”

“I can think of one more way. Don’t move, OK?”

Zach nodded as Chris got up and walked over. He climbed atop Zach’s pillow and arranged himself beside Zach’s head, burying his face in Zach’s hair. The sensation was strange – Chris’s hands in his hair were tiny but strong and solid – but his close proximity was immediately comforting. “This is nice,” he admitted.

“Yeah, let’s just hope you don’t drool, huh?” Chris chided, relaxing back into the pillow.

Zach craned his neck back and landed a kiss on Chris’s throat and chest; Chris reciprocated by hugging him back as well as he could manage. “This isn’t at all awkward,” Zach said, huffing a laugh and turning onto his back; Chris held on and wound up straddling Zach’s face.

“Keep it up and I’ll hump your nostril,” Chris threatened with a laugh.

“Oh my god, gross!” 

“You’re telling me? When was the last time you plucked up there? I mean, seriously!” He chuckled and slid down Zach’s face, winding up with his legs on either side of Zach’s throat. He bent down and kissed Zach’s lower lip. 

“We’ll get you sorted soon, OK?”

Chris nodded. “Sure.”

Zach then found a _Law and Order_ rerun and they fell asleep with Chris resting on Zach’s pillow, curled up in his hair.


	5. Chris vs. His Sartorial Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zach takes Chris clothes shopping at Toys R Us.

“This is humiliating,” a muffled voice said.

Zach adjusted the messenger bag on his shoulder and made sure to support it from the bottom with his free hand. “Yeah, well, same here,” he muttered. “Do you think I, a proud gay man, enjoys shopping for Barbies?”

Chris made a _Pffft_ sound that Zach chose to ignore as he glanced around the aisles of the Toys R Us to see if they'd been overheard. Luckily, this early in the morning on a Monday, the place was practically deserted.

He was standing in the garishly all-pink Barbie aisle at the store, in hopes of finding some additional Ken doll outfits for Chris. There were precious few that didn’t make Ken look like a twinky rentboy (and what the hell was that about?) and he held each choice suspended over the bag, the flap of which was open so Chris could look out. “So we’ve got a plethora of khakis, and here’s a little tux, even!” He flipped through more of the packages. “Oh look – a blue button down shirt – perfect for you.” He tossed two of that one, and a soft-looking sweater and jeans combo into the shopping basket. “Oh look, skinny jeans and a beanie!”

“Do _not_ dress me up as you,” Chris said darkly.

“Well, I don’t see any Crocs and yoga pants, honey, and our choices are pretty limited,” Zach said, sounding bitchier than he meant to.

“Fine, fine. Do they have any underwear? These clothes chafe.”

Zach looked around. “Not unless you count bathing suits.”

“Damn – all right.”

“I’ll look on Amazon when we get home – maybe there are better choices.”

Having gone through what limited selection they had already, Zach began to walk out of there, but paused to have a look at the Barbie Dream House, considering it thoughtfully.

“Don’t you even _think about it_!” Chris said, standing up now and leaning with his forearms on the edge of the bag.

“Get back down!” Zach hissed, shaking the messenger bag to dislodge him. 

“You are not buying me a pink lady house with plastic furniture!”

“I was trying to get ideas for what to do for you, for like furniture or eating utensils, if you must know. And keep your voice down – it’s bad enough I look like I’m talking to myself – what do you think’ll happen when people see I have a tiny Captain Kirk in my manpurse?”

Chris ducked back down, but he was still glaring up at Zach when the phone chimed, indicating a text.  
“Yours or mine?” Chris asked.

“Mine.” Zach pulled it out of his pocket. “It’s Zoë – finally getting back to me.”

“About what?”

“I thought it would be good to retrace our steps over the last few days – see if anything rings a bell, or if you may have touched or inhaled something that caused your condition. Wanna make sure everyone over there is OK.”

“Good thinking – God, I hope they’re all OK. What’s she say?”

Zach looked at the message. “She’s home now – she didn’t get my message until this morning.” Zach started walking slowly toward the registers, texting with Zoë as he went. “Excellent! She’s home all day.” He looked down at Chris. “What do you say – are you ready to be seen?”

Chris looked concerned, but Zach could see him come to a decision. “I guess I have no other choice, really.”

“I’ll tell her we’ll be there in an hour. Oh hey – Nerds! And mini M&Ms.” By now, Zach had reached the checkout area, where all the shelves were adorned with items like candy and batteries that were meant to be impulse buys; the candies would be small enough for Chris to eat without any special prep. He threw some packets into his basket and went to stand in line. 

“Hey – what’s all that?” Chris asked in a stage whisper from within the messenger bag.

Zach glanced over at an end cap filled with a wide variety of merchandising for Captain America, from DVDs to posters to coffee mugs. “I dunno – a bunch of toys and junk?”

“No, the thing on the top shelf.”

“The dolls?”

“Action figures.”

“Action figures.”

“Do you think they’re my size?”

“You looking for better company?”

“No, I’m just… you know, the outfit’s cool.”

“Do you want me to buy you a Captain America doll?”

“Do they have the Winter Soldier too?”

“I don’t think the silver arm will work for you,” Zach said wryly and picked up a box at random. “Oh look – this one’s got fully articulated limbs. You could take him dancing.”

“Shut up.”

“I always knew you’d leave me for Evans. It’s the shoulders, isn’t it? Well, I know when I’m beaten. At least he’s hot. Mazel tov, I hope you’ll be happy.”

“You are such a tool.”

“You want me to buy you the motorcycle too?”

“Is it radio controlled?”

\----

They stopped on a quiet street so Chris could change into some of the new clothes (though the shoes were all hard plastic and completely horrible) before heading over to Zoë’s house. 

“Hey, Zach!” She greeted him warmly at the door with a hug and a kiss. “I thought Chris was with you?” she asked, looking out the door past him.

“Is Marco here?”

“No, he took the twins to his mother’s and I have the whole day to myself!”

“Well, that’s fun – did we interrupt? I don’t want to take away from your Mommy alone time.”

“No, it’s all right – I was just going to soak in the tub and then watch a Scandal marathon.”

“You rebel.” Zach closed the door behind him and didn’t miss the strange look she gave him.

“Where’s Chris?”

“Um, that’s kind of why we’re here.”

“Oh no – is he sick? I told him he was overdoing it.” 

“He’s not exactly sick, but…” Zach couldn’t resist looking down at the messenger bag where Chris was. They’d agreed that exposing Zoë to Chris’s special circumstances right off the bat would be too upsetting for all involved, but if, as Zach suspected, she could shine any light on what might have happened, they’d have to get there pretty soon. “Got any iced tea?”

“I just made some horchata this morning – want some?”

Zach raised his eyebrows – it was one of his favorites. He followed her into the kitchen, where she busied herself fixing the drinks. Zach took a seat at the long, rough-hewn kitchen table she had and set the messenger bag on his lap. He could feel Chris shift around nervously inside the bag, and Zach clutched it closer to his body protectively.

“You want me to take your bag?” Zoë asked, setting his drink down on the table and taking a dainty sip from hers.

“No, it’s… kinda why I’m here.” The swig he took from his drink, he knew, was a delaying tactic, but his throat was suddenly impossibly dry and he didn’t want to cough. “Zo, the other day when we were here – did anything strange happen? I mean, did anything out of the ordinary happen to you, or to Marco, or the kids?”

She sat down in the chair beside him. “No – not that I noticed. Why?”

Zach took a deep breath. “Yesterday, at home, we, um, what I mean to say is that _Chris_ , he… well… he seems to have had an accident of sorts.”

Zoë’s eyes widened, clearly upset at the idea of Chris suffering any king of misfortune.

“Zach, you’re kinda freaking me out here.”

“Yeah, cut to the chase, God!” Chris’s muffled voice said from the depths of the bag.

“Shut up, this is harder than it looks,” Zach snapped, but of course Zoë had heard it.

“What’s in the bag, Zach?” she asked slowly.

“Uhhhh….”

“Oh Jesus tap-dancing Christ,” Chris said, struggling to throw the heavy leather flap of the messenger bag out of the way and failing. He had to settle for pushing the upper half of himself out of the gap at the end. “It’s me. I’m in the bag.”

Zoë barely screamed at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am aware that there aren't really Captain America action figures that have clothes - roll with me on that one.


	6. Chris vs. The Mystery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoe provides a clue.

Zach carefully placed a mug of tea into Zoë’s hands, thought better of it, and guided it (along with her hands still clutching it) to rest atop the kitchen table.

“There now,” he said, taking his seat again, “you feeling better?”

“No, I am not, _Zachary_. Chris has been shrunken to the size of a doll and I am a LITTLE. FREAKED. OUT.” She closed her lips tightly after speaking, clearly not trusting herself not to have another outburst like the last one, which was truly amazing to witness. 

“I understand,” Chris said sincerely. He had been sitting on the table, partially obscured by the basket of fruit that sat in the middle of it. He got up and approached her carefully. “I’m still me, you know? Just, like, concentrated.” 

He rested a small hand on her wrist and she froze, making a high-pitched noise. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry – please d-don’t touch me.”

He pulled his hand away as if burned, and as good an actor as he was, there was no way for him to cover up the hurt her reaction was causing him. Zach resisted the urge to gather him up in his arms.

“It’s just that when I was little, my older cousins took me to go see _Child’s Play_ and Chucky scared the ever-living shit out of me. I had nightmares for weeks, and made my mother get rid of all the dolls in the house – believe me, my sisters did _not_ let me live that down. But this is just bringing it back. I’m sorry, you’re my friend and I can’t –“

“I am not a homicidal doll.”

She had tears in her eyes. “I know.” 

Chris looked at Zach helplessly. 

“But do you think you can maybe get past it?” Zach prompted her.

She looked from Zach to Chris and back again and took a deep breath. “Yes, I can.”

Zach smiled encouragingly. “There you go. Just don’t touch her, Chris.”

Chris looked aggrieved, but nodded.

“Which brings me to why we’re here today, Zo. We have been trying to figure out what happened to Chris, and it’s my theory that it’s something to do with a curse or something mystical or magical.”

“I do not think that,” Chris felt compelled to add.

“Noted,” Zach said, a little irritated. “So since he woke up like this yesterday, we thought we’d go backwards from there.”

“And you guys were here all day Saturday, and want to see if it’s something to do with my house? There’s nothing magical here, Zach.”

“But maybe there is and you just didn't realize it.”

“I think I know what’s in my home.”

“Or maybe it’s something environmental,” Chris supplied.

Zach frowned.

“You mean, like some sort of virus or spore or something?”

“Or radiation, or chemicals.”

Zoë went pale and clutched a charm on the necklace she often wore. “What are you saying – I have my family here, Chris!”

“And we’re not even sure if it happened here,” Zach hastened to add, hoping to calm everything down. “We just wanted to start here.”

“Well, I don’t see why you can’t have a look around,” she said after a long moment’s consideration. “Better to know now than to risk another accident, right?”

“That’s the ticket,” Zach said encouragingly.

They started in the garden, where Chris had helped Zoë get her garden ready for the coming summer’s growing season. The patch of earth was arranged in a number rows, with dozens of tiny seedlings neatly placed the proscribed amount of space apart, each row properly labeled.

“Did you water the lettuces? I told you to water the lettuces,” Chris said before clamboring over the small bit of wire edging that served as a decorative border. He crouched down before the tiny plants of lollo rosso and arugula and romaine – now knee-high on him – and buried his hands in the soil. “This dry Southern California climate is murder on these little guys,” he warned, mounding up some of the still-loose soil around them. 

“I don’t know what it could be,” Zoë said. “I checked the timer on the irrigation system.”

He gave her a look like he didn't believe her and moved on to inspect the tomatoes. 

They went over every inch of the tidy garden, but Zach didn't think there was anything outside the norm out there. Perhaps he’d seen too many superhero flicks, but in the absence of broken industrial waste pipes leaking toxic, glowing, green sludge, he didn't know what else to look for. Their next stop was the house, where the furnishings proved more interesting, though Chris swore he hadn’t touched much of anything, having spent most of his time in Zoë’s kitchen, since he’d gotten dirty and sweaty pretty quickly and didn't want to mess anything up.

“Well I guess whatever it was didn't happen here,” Zach said regretfully.

“Don’t look so disappointed,” Zoë chided.

Zach shrugged apologetically. “That means our next stop is the garden center, and I don’t relish bringing Chris there – it gets so busy there this time of year, and I don’t want to risk being spotted.”

“I’m sorry, guys, I really am,” Zoë said truthfully. 

“Before we leave, I want to go and check on the settings on your irrigation system, Zo,” Chris said. “Make sure the timers are set properly.”

“Knock yourself out.”

Chris headed off toward the mudroom and Zach called to him, “You sure you can reach?”

“Oh my God, can you not?” Chris said over his shoulder and kept going.

Zach looked back at Zoë with a wounded air. 

“This is pretty hard, huh?” she said sympathetically.

“I’m insane with worry – he fell into the toilet yesterday. Good thing it’s one of those low water ones.”

Zoë giggle-snorted and then covered her mouth. “I am so sorry!”

“It beats staring at him in terror.”

“Shut up, I wasn’t lying about Chucky! You’re going to tell me there’s nothing from your childhood that still terrifies you?” Her hand traveled up to touch the charm at her neck again.

“Only pictures of me in middle school.”

She laughed and gave a habitual tug on her necklace, which pulled the clasp on it loose; it came away in her hand. “Oh, not again,” she said, frustrated. “This is my favorite piece and it keeps doing this – I need to take it in for repair before I lose it. My _abuelo_ gave it to me, my father’s father.” She held it out to Zach. “Do you mind helping me with it again?” 

The same thing had happened the other day, and Zach had squeezed closed the tiny metal loop that the clasp connected to, since Zoë didn't seem to have the strength in her fingers. He took the necklace from her and suddenly, he remembered something. He looked at the charm on it; it was a bit of dark pink coral that had been carved with the image of a woman in relief – a saint or something? It looked like a Madonna – Zach had seen enough of them in his life to recognize one – but done in an unusual, folk art style.

He rubbed the pad of his thumb over the image. “Hey Zoë, remember our talk the other day after lunch?”

“You’re going to have to be more specific – we talked for like an hour.” 

Chris had gone right back to work after wolfing down a sandwich, and Zach and Zoë had lingered over iced tea and played with the kids, talking and laughing. That was when one of the babies grabbed for the necklace and tore it from Zoë’s neck.

“Yeah, but it got a bit heavy toward the end there, remember?”

“Zach, it always gets heavy – you’re a freaking drama queen.”

“Exactly. And when we were talking, I was holding onto this.” He held the necklace out and they both looked down at it as if it was a living thing. “What is this charm, exactly?”

“It’s an image of Yemaya, an orisha in Santeria – like, a goddess, you know? She’s the mother of all gods, a water goddess, _patrona_ of women and motherhood.”

“You said your grandfather gave it to you?”

“He was a Santero – a priest, but I don’t believe in that stuff, not really.”

“But the charm, is it, like, magical or anything?”

Zoë went pale. “I don’t know.”

“ _You don’t know?_ ”

“Well, I mean, my mother thought all that stuff was blasphemy, and she never let me wear it. I’ve had it since I was little – he died when I as 9, so I never got a chance to ask?”

Zach could feel the blood drain from his face and he felt light-headed. He stumbled over to a chair and sat down heavily, shaking.

“Zach? Oh my God, let me get you some water!” She returned a moment later and pressed a glass into his hands. 

“This is all my fault,” he said, setting the glass on the table.

“No, it’s not.”

“It is, it is! God!” He covered his eyes with his hand. “When we were talking, what did I say?”

“Zach, honey, you say a lot of things.” 

He gave her a look. 

“A lot of things that I pay _careful attention_ to!” 

He narrowed his eyes. 

“But you’re going to have to remind me this one time.”

He sighed. “I said I was worried that Chris didn't need me as much anymore now that he was out, remember? That before, when he was all confused and scared about it, it was like we were in our own little bubble and he looked to me more to be, like, the lead or something. Now he’s more confident about it, but something in me wishes he still looked to me for that support.”

“Oh yeah. And I told you that’s stupid, and passive-aggressive, and it’s bullshit. And toxic. And stupid.”

“You said stupid twice.”

“Yes, well…”

“Well it’s the way I felt – feel – felt. God I don’t even know anymore – “ He ran his fingers through his hair, messing it up. 

“You want him to need you.”

“I guess I do.”

“How much though? Enough that you have to take care of every little thing? You need him dependent on you?”

Zach couldn’t look at her.

“Did you wish for that, Zach? When you were holding the symbol of Yemaya, patroness of relationships and life?” she said a little stridently.

“Yes?”

“That is some fucked up shit right there.”

Zach slid down in his chair, covering his face with his hands.

“What’s fucked up?” said Chris from the doorway.


	7. Chris vs. The Obfuscation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zach makes a hard decision.

“What’s fucked up?” Chris repeated.

Zach held the necklace up, prepared to come clean, when Zoë interrupted him. 

“This whole situation, you know?” she said. “Zach was telling me all about what you’ve been through so far, and it’s just so… upsetting.”

Chris looked uneasy. “You’re not gonna scream some more, are you?”

“No, no I’m not.” She got up and crossed the room to where Chris stood, then got down on her knees, so she could talk to him more at his level. “But I want to see if there’s anything I can do for you – for either of you.”

“No, I – I think we’ve managed pretty well. Unless you know where we can buy underwear because the material of these Ken clothes – whoo! They are murder on m’ boys.”

Zach winced at Chris’s crassness, but Zoë laughed. “Short of ordering something online or finding a specialty store, I just don’t know, but… Let me see if there’s anything I can come up with.” She got up and headed for the doorway. “I think I might have something upstairs in the kids’ room.” She paused and turned around. “Zach, will you come with me?”

“What? Why?”

“Because I asked you to,” she said, mugging at him from behind Chris.

Zach was confused. “What are you asking me to do?”

“ _Come. And. Help. Me._ ” she said slowly, her eyes flashing.

“OK, OK,” Zach said, getting up to follow her. “You’ll be OK down here?” Zach asked. 

“I’m good – I’ll just scale the counter and make a meal out of that grape over there.”

Zach eyeballed the bowl of fruit on the counter. “Does that mean you want me to get you a grape?”

“No.”

“Does it mean you want me to put you up there?”

“No. It means I am going to climb up to the kitchen counter and have a delicious snack of grape, because I am getting sick of candy.”

Zach sighed inwardly. “Fine,” he said lightly and followed Zoë out of the room. “OK, what –“ he began to say wearily.

“Shh!” she interrupted. “Not here.” She said nothing until they got to the twins’ room and she closed the door. “Acoustics in that foyer are like crazy good,” she explained, “I didn’t want Chris to overhear.”

“So you’re going to tell me what the hell you’re thinking?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes. Listen, you said it yourself – you wished for Chris to need you. Well, how’s he going to do that if you tell him it’s your fault he’s like this?”

She had a point. “Oh,” he replied, feeling defeated.

“Exactly.” She turned away from him and opened a drawer. She pulled out several light pieces of cotton flannel and began feeling them thoughtfully with her fingertips. “You’ve got to make sure he feels that need, or else this wish or curse or whatever it is will never be lifted. _He’s_ got to feel it, and the sooner the better. _Capisce?_ ” 

“I don’t like doing that.”

She crossed the room in front of him to the adjacent bathroom and opened the doors of the vanity, crouching down to root around in a series of small bins. “You see much choice here?” she asked, looking up at him. “Because I don’t.” She pulled out a small first aid kit and opened it up, pulling out an elastic Ace bandage and a pair of safety scissors. 

“I hate lying to him,” he replied. “I hate that it was my fault this happened. I just… I hate myself!” 

She stood and turned to face him, poking him in the sternum. “Good, you should. Only get over yourself quick, because it’s not going to solve this problem.”

He followed her back into the bedroom and headed for the changing table, where she began to cut the cloth she’d found into an oddly irregular shape. She then spun around to a sort of hammock that had been affixed to the wall and stuffed full of plush toys and dolls, one of which she chose. She held the scrap of fabric against it and nodded, satisfied.

“What the hell are you doing?” Zach asked. 

“You’ll see,” she said as she picked one of the metallic clasps out of the Ace bandage, grabbed everything else and headed for the stairs again, Zach following close behind.

They found Chris on the kitchen counter where he’d said he would be. He had apparently prized the lid off of a glass canister of granola and had picked out several sunflower seeds. “What took so long?” he asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“This,” Zoë said proudly, holding up the scrap of fabric proudly.

“What is it?”

“Don’t get mad, but… it’s a diaper.”

“A, um, a what now?”

She went over to him and laid everything on the counter. “When I first had the twins, I thought it’d be good to go with cloth diapers – that’s what gave me the idea. If you were a baby, this would have a pad in it, but since you just need something to – well, you know, cover you – I figure just a piece of fabric ought to do the trick? Let me show you.” She held up the doll she’d brought with her, then laid the cloth down and the doll on top of it. “See, you bring this part between your legs and wrap these flaps around your waist like this. Fasten with this bandage clasp and voila.”

The demonstration was a bit clumsy because the doll was fully clothed and its legs weren’t easily manipulated, but she got the concept across pretty well.

“Look, I know it’s not exactly proper underwear, and if you’re looking for any kind of support, you’re shit out of luck, but until you can maybe find something better, at least it’s nice and soft, and your boys won’t get chafed anymore.” She glanced over at Chris with a sincere smile and a hopeful expression on her face. 

Zach could tell she felt bad about her reaction to Chris earlier and from where he was standing, this may have made up for it. Chris looked up at her with an expression of such gratitude on his face, Zach thought he might actually cry. “Wow, that’s – wow, thanks, Zo,” Chris said, and if Zach wasn’t mistaken, his boyfriend’s voice sounded a little emotional.

“So why don’t you go and try this one on – if it’s not the right size, we can adjust it.”

“Thanks, I will,” he said. “Can you help me down?”

“Sure.” She lifted him to the floor and he jogged across the kitchen to the powder room, where he ducked behind the door.

“I can’t lie to him,” Zach murmured, insisting on sticking to his point even though he knew she was right. This was too big, too important a fact to keep from Chris, and yet…

“It’s the only way,” Zoë replied, slipping her arm around his and resting her head on his shoulder

“I know,” Zach whispered.


	8. Chris vs. the Garden Center

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the (fake) search for answers.

Zoë's makeshift underwear were a bit bulky, so she trimmed them down a bit and made Chris half a dozen pairs. Chris looked positively ecstatic, so Zach counted it a win. She also made a quick lunch (including a teeny turkey wrap for Chris) before sending them on their way. 

“So I guess we have to go back a little further, huh?” Chris asked from his spot on the floor of Zach’s car. They couldn’t afford him being seen, and Zach just felt safer with him down there in the messenger bag. He had the car’s heater on so Chris would be warm enough – it looked like it was going to rain pretty soon. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess so,” Zach said. He glanced down. “I’m sorry we didn’t find anything at uh, at Zoë’s. Are you OK?”

Chris nodded quickly and looked away. “I will be.”

“You sure?”

“ _I will be,_ Zach.”

They drove on in silence for a bit, Zach keeping his eyes on the road and his mind as blank as he could. Zoë was right, of course, but he was convinced if he so much as looked at Chris, his boyfriend would know immediately that Zach was lying to him.

“Where we going?”

Zach glanced over, startled to see that Chris had climbed up onto the seat and then the arm rest and was peering out the window as the scenery whizzed past on the freeway.

“What are you doing? Someone might see!”

“See what? They’ll think I’m a doll or something and that you’re one strange dude for having one in your passenger seat.”

“Oh well, when you put it like that – by all means just hang out there in the open, Chris,” Zach snitted. 

Chris ignored him. “Where are we going?”

“Back to the garden center where we got Zoë’s plants the other day – it’s the last place before the last place you were before this happened.”

“Good thinking.”

The garden center was just off the exit and set back from the road. The place was always hopping on the weekends, but on a Monday afternoon, it was pretty sparsely populated, which Zach was very grateful for. The place was made up of a rambling ranch house that served as a storefront, and behind that were arrayed a series of interconnected greenhouses. Beyond that were outdoor arbors where the more sun-loving plants were kept as well as the trees, and at the back, lots of pavers and soil as well as full-grown trees for professional landscapers. 

Chris loved it because they were family-owned and grew most of their own stock. He often got into long conversations with the owner’s wife about everything from improving the nitrogen content in their soil to the pros and cons of using tree mulch (Chris was very much con, as he would passionately discuss with anyone who’d listen). Zach mostly tried not to die of boredom, though Chris occasionally let him pick out the color schemes for the flowers in the hanging pots that adorned the back patio.

He pulled into a parking spot and then waited for Chris to hop inside the messenger bag before slinging it over his shoulder. He entered through the main doors and took a quick left, heading out toward the greenhouses. He was committed to maintaining the ruse that they were here to investigate, so he retraced their steps from the other day, heading for the section that held the vegetable seedlings.

“Hey, Zach! Hey!” Zach looked down, alarmed to see Chris’s arm reaching out of the messenger bag to tug on his shirt. “Remember we ordered topsoil? Maybe head over there."

"We ordered manure too Chris. You want to be the one to root through it?"

"Ha ha no." 

Zach was winding his way to the back exit through which the topsoil would be found when he heard Chris say, "No way – are those begonias _orange_?" There was a shifting inside the bag as Chris stood to lean out of it, but before Zach could say or do anything to make him stop, someone called his name and he turned his head. 

"Quinto? Holy crap man, haven't seen you in like forever."

Zach winced as he felt Chris jump to the ground, but there was nothing he could do to go after him – social niceties were calling. 

"Grunberg? Wow man – it’s been an age, how the hell are you?" Ordinarily, Zach would be absolutely thrilled to run into his former _Heroes_ cast mate, but today was not the day. Nevertheless, he had to keep up appearances and not do anything suspicious like chase after his foot-tall boyfriend on his hands and knees. He stepped out from behind the low table of potted annuals to accept a brohug from Greg, who he hadn't seen in over two years. There was much manly slapping of backs and bumping of shoulders before they pushed apart and caught up on recent events. 

"So the buzz for the new film has been good, I hear?" Greg asked.

Zach smiled proudly. "Yeah, I still can't believe we got accepted to Cannes." _Before the Door_ 's latest production, a kind of anthology thing that Chris had brought to them as his directorial debut, was getting great early buzz and they had just learned the week before that it had been accepted for the film festival in May. 

"No way, Cannes? Really? Wow that's great," Greg said. "And they've got you locked in for a fourth Trek?"

"Yeah, it's so busy lately. How about you? How're Liz and the boys?”

"They’re really great – getting big. The boys, not Liz. She's got me planting tomatoes, which is what brings me here – we need some kind of special fertilizer or something."

“Or something is right,” Zach said. “I just dig the little holes Chris tells me to.”

“Chris, huh? You guys getting serious?”

“Yeah,” Zach said, the same sappy smile coming over his face that always did when he talked about Chris, “maybe.”

“Listen man, I won’t keep you – gotta head to Little League practice in a bit. Let’s have lunch one of these days, huh?”

“Sure thing, take care.” Zach beamed at Greg until he turned and left, then looked around to be sure he was now alone out here – he was, at least in the immediate vicinity. He sank to a crouch and looked around under the broad table he stood beside, hissing, “Chris!” as loud as he dared, but he did not see him. He scrambled to turn around, overbalanced and pitched forward to land on his hands in a puddle of water from the greenhouse’s irrigation system. “Chris!” Still, he did not see him under the adjacent table or any of the others in the row.

Standing, Zach narrowed his eyes as he cast about the place, wondering where he might logically find his boyfriend. He wasn’t anywhere near the tables of annuals nearby, so what might have caught his attention? In the next greenhouse, he glimpsed a grouping of small, potted lemon trees – the largest of them perhaps five feet tall – and one of them began to shake. Something inside his head made him head for it instinctively.

“Chris! What the hell!” Zach looked around, panicked, to be sure that no one was around to witness the star of _Jack Ryan: Shadow Recruit_ shimmying up the trunk of a fruit tree in Sherman Oaks. 

“Hey man! Look, Meyer lemon trees! I have always wanted one for the orchard.” Chris had paused inside the foliage of the tree, his foot resting on one of the branches, his ass against the main trunk.

Zach angled his body so that no one looking in from the other building could see, and glared at him. “Are you insane?”

“OK, OK – I know half a dozen trees does not an orchard make, but I figure I have to start somewhere, you know?”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I was getting at: your loose definition of the word ‘orchard.’”

Chris rolled his eyes.

“Do I need to remind you what happens if you are seen? I mean, besides next week’s front page headline on the _Weekly World News_?”

“No,” Chris said sulkily.

“Do you want to climb down or am I going to have to lift you out of there like this is some kind of modern edition of _Gulliver’s Travels_?”

Chris glared up at him but climbed down immediately. Zach held the bag out for him to climb inside. “It’s just so stuffy and dark in here,” he whined.

“Well, unless you can come up with a better alternative, I’ve got nothing more to say on the subject,” Zach said, immediately hating the patronizing tone in his own voice. He took a deep breath. “Look, I know this sucks, but can you please just keep focused here?”

“I am – I already went over to the area where all the soil is – there was nothing out of the ordinary there. So unless there are some kind of alien spores floating around here, I came up with _bupkis_. I guess we’re still at square one.”

“Square one,” Zach sighed, unable to look at him.


	9. Chris and Zach Go to Hollywood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit to the Paramount lot. Plus dog-riding.

_“Woo hoo! Yeah! Awesome!”_

Zach woke the next morning to the sound of jubilation and excitement. Hoping against hope that perhaps the spell on Chris had worn off, he jumped from their bed and ran for the stairs. What he saw was not exactly what he expected.

Chris, dressed in his Captain America outfit, was riding a clearly game Noah all around the downstairs, one hand clutching the fur on the back of the dog’s neck, the other brandishing his shield in the air. As Zach watched from the bottom step with a mixture of confusion and mild horror, they made a complete circuit of the downstairs, first running from living room to office to kitchen, where they did two laps of the island before dashing out onto the deck.

Sighing mightily, Zach followed and, as he would have predicted, once Noah got to the grass in the back yard, he was compelled to roll around on his back. Zach didn't see it happen, but Chris was sitting on the grass beside him, breathing heavily and grinning at the dog, his face alight with excitement.

“Well, that’s something I don’t see every day,” Zach remarked dryly. “My 12-inch boyfriend making a fool out of himself.”

Chris stood up and brushed grass clippings off his clothes. “Aw, come on, I thought you told me you got rid of all your sex toys,” he quipped.

Before Zach could think of a witty rejoinder – or just flip him off – Noah caught sight of his master and scrambled to his feet. He came running to greet Zach, leaving Chris stranded in the grass.

“I’ve got to find a silver lining somewhere,” Chris pointed out, pushing himself to his feet and brushing grass clippings from his clothes, “and Noah was only too obliged to help, weren’t ya, boy?” Noah made a rumbly, agreeable sound and Zach gave him a dark look.

“Did the fact there are coyotes in the canyon enter into your thought process, like, at all?”

Chris shrugged.

“Well at least you got some use out of the Captain America doll.”

“Action figure,” Chris corrected, climbing the stairs. 

Zach watched, itching to help him out, especially as he was clearly winded after the fifth one, but he knew there’d be hell to pay. “Breakfast?”

“Aw yeah, I’m starving to death!”

Zach made bacon, eggs, and toast that he cut into tiny points, and they ate it on the deck. 

"So where are we going today?" Chris asked, mopping up egg yolk with the last of his toast. He had yolk all over his face, and Zach thought he ought to tell him about it. 

"You tell me, we weren't together on Friday."

"Oh yeah. I had a costume test for Jack Ryan 2 at the studio."

 _The studio, Jesus_ Zach thought, _where about 4,000 people work every single day. That ought to be fun and easy to deal with._

"Oh god, how am I going to get in?” Passes onto studio property were issued on a temporary basis; since Zach wasn’t actively filming anything there, he didn't really belong.

“You really think Mr. Spock’ll have difficulties getting onto the Paramount lot?”

“You never know.” In truth, Zach was more reluctant to risk exposing Chris, and the fact that it was all for nothing didn’t help bolster his enthusiasm.

“We can just take my car – security already knows it.”

“OK.”

After he did the dishes, Zach helped Chris shower in the sink and then went to get dressed himself. They were out the door by 9:00.

Once in the car, Zach adjusted the mirrors and the seat – his legs were longer than Chris’s – and then started it up. Looking down, he realized with dread that Chris’s car had a standard transmission. “Aw, crap.”

“What?” Chris sat on the front passenger seat on a pair of copies of the Greater Los Angeles Yellow Pages, so that he’d be high enough for the seatbelt to reach across his body. If they ever got into an accident, Zach was afraid he’d be cut in half by the strap, but he didn’t like the alternative. 

“It’s just been a while since I’ve driven stick.”

“There’s a dirty joke in there somewhere.”

“Shut up, I’m serious.”

Chris rolled his eyes. “Well, how long has it been?”

“Since 1994?”

Chris ran a hand through his hair. “Well, I mean, it’s like a bicycle, right – you never forget?”

 _Sure it is, if you’ve ever successfully done it,_ Zach thought darkly. Joe had tried and tried to teach him how to drive his old Jeep Wrangler when he was training for his driver’s test when he was 16, but learning how to drive was stressful enough without having to deal with all the hills in and around Pittsburgh. Zach had thrown a hissy until his mom allowed him to use her old Ford Taurus. 

“Yeah. Sure. Bicycle.” He dropped his hand onto the gear shift and tried to manhandle it into reverse – the thing wouldn’t engage.

“Try letting out the clutch,” Chris suggested.

“Oh yeah.” Zach did as suggested, but it was still a lot more difficult than it had any right to be. He threw his shoulder behind it and the transmission engaged with an audible _KA-CHUNK_ , and then they were backing out of the driveway.

Once on the street, Zach hit the brakes and then the clutch, and threw the car into first. But his timing was all wrong and as he tried to let up on the clutch, the car stalled out. He restarted, but forgot to put it into neutral, and so the car bucked forward. 

“It really has been a long time, huh?” Chris asked, clearly trying to be patient as his boyfriend proceeded to destroy all that fine German engineering.

Zach laughed nervously and tried again, but again it stalled.

“Look, what if I worked the clutch and you just did the shifting?” Chris offered.

“You think that’d work?”

“It’s better than leaving my transmission sitting in the middle of the road.”

Zach tried to smile affably, but he was certain it came out looking more like a grimace.

Chris slipped out from the safety belt and scrambled across the central console. He looked good in his little Ken doll khakis and cream-colored cable knit sweater; the pants did wonderful things for his ass, Zach reflected. Chris then clambered up onto Zach’s thigh and slid down the other side, his small body pressing in against Zach’s inner thigh. It was the barest amount of pressure, but that close to Zach’s crotch – well, he wasn’t proud of himself, but it caused a reaction. He shifted self-consciously in his seat, causing Chris to lose his balance and fall against Zach’s crotch.

Zach made an oofing sound and could feel his face going red as his dick twitched. 

“This should not be sexy,” Chris said, pushing himself away.

“It’s been _three days,_ babe,” Zach pointed out.

Chris rolled his eyes and then scrambled down Zach’s pant leg to the floor, landing on his hands and knees. “Hey, what’s this?” he said, and then disappeared under the driver’s seat. Soon he emerged, dragging something with him. “Is that my old iPhone?” Zach asked, incredulous.

“I guess it is.”

“You told me you checked your car!”

Chris looked away. “Weeeelll…”

“We are _so_ having words about thoughtfulness and responsibility when this is all over,” Zach bitched, and then started the car again.

They gave shifting a few experimental tries, and whether it was because it really was that uncomplicated or else Chris just knew his own car that well, it was a lot less of a cluster fuck than before. They found the right rhythm and were soon on their way.

Luckily traffic was light and they made good time to the Paramount lot. Zach steered the car into line at the gate, gliding to a halt when the guard waved him up.

“Mr. Quinto,” Roger the guard, who was familiar to Zach said, “you’re not on my list today.”

“I know, Rog, I was actually coming in to pick up Mr. Pine. This is his car.”

Roger checked the badge affixed to the back window and nodded. “So it is.”

“I won’t be long,” Zach said, sweating it. If the man turned them away, he didn’t know what he’d do.

“Well, I suppose it’d be all right – you are Mr. Spock and all.”

Zach smiled winningly and hit the button to raise the window.

“Told you,” Chris said, and then leaned his entire body over the clutch as Zach put the car into gear.

Zach wended his way to employee parking and found a slot, then looked down at Chris. “So now what – we just try to break in to the wardrobe department?”

“Uh, yes?”

“You have a plan? It’s not like I can just go in there on my own – I don’t have an appointment.”

“Just get me over there – I’ll figure it out.” 

He sounded so confident, and Zach could almost admire him for it – except when was he ever going to _need_ Zach enough for the spell to be broken? Chris sure did seem to be bearing up quite well given the circumstances – in many ways, he was doing better than Zach was. He hadn’t let it affect his mood or confidence or anything. Zach wished he could manage that much swagger on any given day, and he hadn’t been reduced to a fraction of his normal size.

Rather than use the messenger bag as they had been doing, Zach stowed Chris inside the front pocket of a hoodie he pulled on over his sweater. It was the kind where there was just one, continuous pocket – kind of like a kangaroo pouch, so Chris became a warm and surprisingly welcome weight against his body. Chris could poke his head out and be relatively out of sight, especially if Zach kept his hands lowered, obscuring him. 

As they got closer to the wardrobe department’s warehouse-style building, Zach spotted a small panel truck that they used for the transportation of costumes off premises. The back of it was wide open, and  
a young woman was unloading wheeled racks laden down with wardrobe. 

Chris hissed, "Hey isn't that-"

"Mary!" Zach called out. 

The woman, who'd worked as an apprentice on _Into Darkness_ , turned when she heard her name called. "Mr. Quinto?"

Zach smiled. "I told you before, it's Zach."

She smiled back, her eyes shining; Zach suspected she had a crush on him. "What can I do for you, Zach?"

Zach thought quickly. "I'm looking for the soundstage where they're filming _Ellen_ , and I got all turned around." He laughed self deprecatingly, running a hand through his hair.

"Don't oversell it," Chris hissed. Zach ignored him. 

"Oh, I think they're over in Three. The old Three, not the new one,"

Zach would never understand how they numbered these places for as long as he lived; they weren't even sequential. 

"Oh, OK, thanks." He made as if to go, then was struck with an idea. "Hey, you want any help with this?" He laid a hand on the rack of wardrobe, which was tightly packed and looked pretty heavy. As he did, he stepped closer to it, pressing his front against it.

"You know what? Yeah, that would be awfully nice. It's just so hard to get up that ramp, you know?"

"Yeah." He didn't know, actually, not at all. But he was an actor, he could pretend. He took hold of the crossbar and grabbed it decisively. As if on cue, he could feel Chris climb out of his pocket and grab onto one of the hanging garments. Zach helped Mary muscle the thing up the ramp, which really was steep as hell. He didn't know how anyone was expected to do this alone. 

Once inside, she smiled her thanks. He was about to take his leave when she turned to him, a hopeful expression on her face. He looked at her with a patient smile; he'd had to let down a fair few women in his time, though he never enjoyed it. It was a side effect of fame. 

"Are you in touch with Mr. Pine at all? You know, when you're not filming?" 

“Yeah?"

"Do you know if he's seeing anyone? Because he's just... So dreamy, you know?"

Zach fought to keep the smile plastered on his face as a faint snickering came from deep inside the rack of clothes. "Boy, don't I. But you know, I hear he's not all that into dating lately, not since the accident."

"Accident?"

"Haven't you heard? Well I guess his people did a good job of keeping it out of the tabs then. Let's just say the Pine nuts got a bit too close to the business end of a pit bull and, well, _ouch_."

"Omigod!" Mary said, covering her mouth with her hand. 

Zach made a sad face and nodded. "Poor thing's peeing sitting down now, I’m afraid,"

“How awful!”

Zach made sympathetic noises for about two seconds then began to back out of there. “Well I'd better be going. You take care now, Mary.” He leaned forward to give her a half-hug and an air kiss, Hollywood style. She grabbed hold of the clothes rack and went on her way. 

Before she wheeled the clothes out of sight, Zach could just make out a tiny hand flipping him the bird.


	10. Chris vs. Zach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drunken tiny!Chris

Chapter 10/11: Chris vs. Zach

Outside the Paramount wardrobe department, Zach leaned up against an unoccupied golf cart, straining his ears for some sign from inside that Chris had been discovered. He wasn’t sure what he expected – screams? Laughs? A crash of some sort? But there was nothing, and there had been nothing now for twenty minutes. 

Zach was usually damn good at feigning nonchalance, but this was testing even his capacity for subtlety. He was fairly certain the same PA had passed him three times now; once more and he was certain the kid would call security to report him. 

So it was with a certain amount of astonishment that he reacted to a tiny hand suddenly pulling at the artfully rolled cuff of his jeans. 

"FREEYOWWW WHAT THE FUCK OHMYHEARTI’MDYING!" He may have said. He wasn't quite sure, because he was busy trying not to faint. 

_"Chris, what the hell?"_

"Jesus, Zach!" Chris yelled, hand on his own small chest. 

"What're you doing, sneaking up on a guy like that?!"

"I thought you saw me! I waved at you."

"Oh. I was, um, trying to stay cool."

"Do it with a little more self awareness next time, Christ!"

"Where'd you come from anyway?"

"I was all the way on the other side of the building, I thought it'd be easier to just skirt the outside of the building, so I climbed out a window."

"Climbed..." Zach took a breath and counted to five. "Isn't that a little high? What if you got hurt?"

Chris shrugged. "There was a Bougainvillea."

Zach tried not to look like Oliver Hardy as he ran a hand over his face, he really did. “Did you find anything?" he asked in measured tones; he knew the answer, of course, but he had to pretend. 

"No. No. I didn't," Chris admitted, looking particularly dejected. "I even looked around for charms or golden idols or whatever, in case your theory was right."

"Nothing?"

Chris slipped his hands in his pockets, his shoulders bowing, and shook his head. "I'm beginning to think we won't ever find anything, Zach."

"Oh, come on, don't... Don't say that," Zach said, distracted by Chris's manner. He was utterly dejected; Zach couldn't remember ever seeing him this way. “Come on, we’ll just go to the next place.”

Chris shook his head and began to walk away, back toward the parking lot. Zach scrambled to catch up – they could not be seen, but at the same time, Chris was giving off such a _don’t touch me_ vibe, and he didn't want to upset him further. “Chris… Chris,” he said, hoping to get him to stop before someone spotted them.

“What?!” Chris nearly shouted, rounding on him. He paused, visibly trying to control himself. “What?” he repeated in a more normal voice.

“You can’t just walk away now – someone might see,” Zach said gently.

Chris nodded, resigned, and walked back. 

Zach knelt down and let him climb inside his pocket again, and he lay against Zach’s belly, morose and unmoving. It was a short walk back to the car, where Zach sat slumped in the driver’s seat, not quite knowing what to do. A minute later, Chris stirred and climbed out, then scrambled down to the floor of the car.

“You wanna start the car?” he asked, subdued.

“Where are we going?” 

“Home.”

Zach pressed the ignition button and the engine of the Mercedes came to life. He paused with his hand on the gear shift. “You sure you don’t want to try another place? Where else did you go on Friday?”

“My parents’ house,” Chris muttered, turning to depress the clutch. 

Zach couldn’t see his face, so he didn't know whether he was angry or sad; all he knew was that there was nothing he could do to help. He threw the car into gear and drove them home.

\----

“What do you want for lunch?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on, it’s late and you have to eat something – you know how you get,” Zach said, closing the fridge. 

Zach recognized this mood – it didn't happen often, but when it did, it was dark. He didn't want to turn around to look at Chris, afraid he’d set him off. At the same time, the knowledge that all of this was his fault ate at him – he felt a hollowness at the core of himself, and the guilt physically hurt. “Fuck it,” he muttered, turning around to spill his guts.

Chris wasn’t there.

Resigning himself to a miserable evening, Zach reheated some black beans from dinner a few days back, standing over the stove and stirring it desultorily. When it was ready, he made a couple of tiny burritos and placed them on a saucer, then made himself one as well. He sat down at the kitchen island and stared out the patio door while he ate, tasting none of it.

He took his plate to the sink, and when he turned around he found Chris standing in the doorway. He looked up at Zach with large eyes, his arms wrapped around himself. “I can’t go see my mom, Zach, because if I do, then I have to explain. And if I have to explain, then that makes this whole thing real. And if it’s really real, then –“ He glanced away, unable to say more.

“Then maybe we can’t fix it,” Zach finished for him. 

“I can’t talk about this.”

“Chris, we have to.”

He shook his head and walked out of the room.

Zach sighed and began to clean up the lunch things. When he was done, he grabbed his Kindle and set himself up on the family room couch to read; he was asleep less than fifteen minutes later.

When he woke, it was hours later and the shadows were already getting longer in the room. Then he heard a tinkling sound and a loud clattering, followed by an unmistakable giggle. Rising, he padded into the dining room, where he found Chris lying on his stomach atop the sideboard where they kept all the liquor, staring at something on the floor. He looked up when he heard Zach enter, muttered, “Shit,” under his breath, then pushed himself unsteadily to his feet. Behind him, Zach could see an empty bottle of tequila, the miniature ones they gave out on airplanes, and on the floor was another one, still full. “Hey buddy!” Chris said. “Got any limes?”

Zach frowned. “Did you drink that whole thing?”

“You betcha! It was a bitch gettin’ the cap off though.”

“Oh, Chris, you know what tequila does to you.”

“It makes me horny?”

“It makes you act crazy. Remember that time you streaked down _La Croisette_ in Cannes?”

“Heeeeeee! That was pretty fun.” 

“You weren’t the one trying to talk the _gendarmes_ out of arresting you.”

“You’re always so serious.”

“One of us has to be.”

 _“One of us has to be,”_ Chris repeated, attempting a mocking imitation, but in his now-smaller voice, it came out sounding more like a muppet with a sinus infection.

Zach refused to be baited. “I will not engage with you while you’re like this – it’s unproductive.”

“I guess all that therapy worked for you – you sound more like a shrink than my mother. Well tell me, _Doctor Quinto,_ what would be productive at a time such as this? Huh?”

“Certainly not acting out like this,” Zach snitted, and so much for not taking the bait, “like a spoiled baby.”

“But isn’t that exactly what you want?” Chris asked, all mocking pretense gone and an intent, hawk-like look in his eyes. Zach was suddenly reminded of the other reason Chris rarely drank tequila – it sometimes made him act out in nasty ways.

“What?” 

“Please, don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you treat me like I’m a child.”

Zach was stung. “What? How?”

“Like making me eat spelt and _soy yogurt_ for breakfast.” He made a face.

“I don’t make you do anything – I make it and you eat it. Besides, if I didn’t, you’d be stuffing donuts into your face, and you know it.”

Chris narrowed his eyes. “You’re always taking my clothes to the dry cleaners and when I go to find them they’re gone.”

“What – it’s not as if I _like_ going to the dry cleaners. If I didn’t, your clothes would be lying in a pile at the bottom of your closet for weeks, and you’d be all, ‘Where’s my blue cardigan? Oh no, what can I wear to this interview?’ If it weren’t for me, you’d have nine blue cardigans sitting in a heap at the bottom of your damn closet.”

“So?!” He was standing with his tiny hands on his hips, a thunderous expression on his face.

“So that’s stupid! Why do you care so much about the goddamn dry cleaning all of a sudden?”

“It’s not just about the dry cleaning, Zach.”

“Then what is it about?”

“It’s like… like… it’s a way you can control me.”

“By ensuring your clothes are cleaned and pressed? I really must be some kind of monster.”

“That’s not it and you know it.”

“I really don’t.”

Chris sighed. “And that’s the problem.” He shook his head then climbed down to the floor. He hoisted the other tiny bottle of tequila onto his shoulder and headed for the patio door. 

“Where are you going?” Zach asked.

“Down to the orchard for some limes.”

“It’s March,” Zach felt compelled to say.

Chris made a face. “I need to be alone before I say anything I’ll regret.”

“You mean you haven’t yet?”

Chris ignored him and stomped out. Zach made an exasperated noise and went to close the sliding glass door behind him. Then his cell phone rang, interrupting all his plans to stew and mutter moodily.

“What, Zo?” he snapped into the phone as soon as he accepted the call.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, what the hell? You do _not_ take that tone with _me_.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, not really selling it, but it would have to do. “Chris and I just had a fight.”

Her manner immediately changed to a more sympathetic one. “Oh sweetie, what happened?”

“Apparently, I shouldn’t be taking his clothes to the dry cleaners.”

“What? What’s that got to do with anything?”

Zach relayed as much of their argument to her as he could recall. “I mean, what the hell – do _you_ think that’s controlling? Am I some kind of weird, controlling controller?”

She took a moment before answering. “Maybe?”

“What? Not you too!”

“Come on, hear me out. I don’t know the context here, and I don’t know what set Chris off –“

“I’ll tell you what set him off – about an ounce of Jose Cuervo.”

“Fine, but think very carefully about what he said. Some people – I’m not saying you, but _some people_ use niceness as a weapon. I used to date this guy who’d just overdo it – always pay for everything, always drive everywhere. I just thought he was being nice or old-fashioned, but it became almost obnoxious – and I resented it after a while. But how could I say anything – he was _being so nice_. Then when we’d argue, he’d bust out the, ‘I don’t know how you can be that way after everything I do for you’ card. Get it?”

“I’m not sure.”

She sighed then began again, speaking very patiently. “I think it’s more than the dry cleaning, sweetie. This is what got you into this mess to begin with, remember? Your irrational desire for Chris to be dependent on you.”

“That is _not_ what I said.”

“Yeah, but it’s what it is, isn’t it?”

Before Zach could answer, Noah began a huge racket at the patio door, pawing at the glass and barking frantically.

“What’s going on?” Zoë asked.

“I dunno, Noah’s going crazy.” Zach lowered the phone to his chest and tried to call to the dog from where he sat at the kitchen table. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him,” Zach said to Zoë when it didn’t work, finally getting up. He went to the dog and grabbed his collar, trying to pull him away from the door. “Come on, Noah – cut it out or I’ll put you in your crate!”

But Noah wriggled out of Zach’s grip and practically heaved himself at the door, and it was then that Zach noticed the way the dog was barking – aggressive, territorial. Then he heard a strange, high-pitched yipping outside.

“Huh – not sure, but it sounds like a coyote,” Zoë was saying into his ear. “We had a couple of ‘em out our way last week – they’re kind cute – littler than I thought they’d be, you know?”

Zach peered out into the lowering gloom as the sun set behind the hills. “Zoë?”

“Yeah?”

“There’s a coyote in the orchard.”

“Yikes – better make sure your cat’s inside.”

Zach could feel the blood drain from his face. “Oh my God, _Zo!_ ”

“What?!”

“Chris is out there!”


	11. Chris vs. The Denouement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit gets resolved.

The shrill, animalistic yipping intensified when Zach slid open the patio door. “Noah!” he shouted as the dog tore off into the near-darkness with a grunt. 

“Zach! Zach!” Zoë’s voice called out as Zach dropped his iPhone, but he could not waste a second to respond as he dashed out the door. He cast about the deck for something, anything that he could use as a weapon; the only thing he saw in the split second he could spare was a garden rake, so he picked it up and ran after the dog.

The deck opened up to an expanse of land that Chris had tamed over the years into an impressive array of flowerbeds and decorative shrubbery. Beyond that was a small but tidy vegetable patch, already practically bursting with lettuces and radishes, and beside that was what Chris lovingly referred to as an orchard but was really a grouping of three or four fruit trees. There was a lime, a blood orange, and an avocado, that, while productive, had yet to produce what Zach would call any kind of exemplar of their species (not that he’d say that to Chris). 

It was towards the orchard that Noah had run, and as Zach approached, he heard a crescendo of barks and growls. When he finally burst into the clearing between trees, brandishing his rake, he saw Noah standing challengingly, hackles raised and lip curled in a vicious snarl. Beyond him, slightly obscured by his shoulder, was a scrappy-looking coyote. The animal was smaller than Noah though no less lethal looking, and was crouched down defensively, teeth bared and the whites of his eyes showing. As soon as Zach arrived and the coyote saw him, he turned and fled, tail between his legs, leaving Zach with nothing but the sound of his own harsh breathing in his ears, and the sight of his dog, all aggression forgotten, turning around to wag his tail almost apologetically.

“Noah?”

Noah whined and laid down as Zach approached, immediately submissive, which Zach found astonishing until he got closer and had a proper look. Beside Noah, pale against the dark earth, lay Chris. 

“No,” Zach moaned, dropping the rake as he fell to his knees. But Chris was conscious and breathing, lying on his back and staring at the sky. “Chris.”

Chris looked up at him with wide, wild eyes. “Zach?” His sweater was torn, and there was a smear of blood on his face, but he _seemed_ all right. “ _“Zach!”_ he choked out, and his face crumpled.

Zach scooped him up immediately and held him close. “Are you OK? Oh my god!” He was shaking or shivering, Zach wasn’t sure which, and his small arms and hands clutched at Zach’s neck. “Chris?”

“Can you take me inside?” Chris asked pitiably.

“Of course.” Zach rose and took him back to the house, where Skunk was sniffing inquiringly at Zach’s phone on the floor.

“Zach!” Zoë’s voice sounded almost frantic. 

Zach picked it up. “I got him, Zo, he’s all right,” Zach said and hung up, walking through the now-dark house towards the stairs. He didn’t stop until he reached the master bathroom, where the first aid supplies were.

Chris was still trembling, his arms and legs wrapped around Zach’s neck. Zach rubbed his hand along his back. “Hey?” he said gently. “I just want to check you out, OK?” He could feel Chris nod, but he didn’t move. Zach shrugged his shoulder, jarring Chris into loosening his grip, but he didn’t let go. “What happened?” Zach asked instead.

“I was just... sitting out in the garden, on the grass, and this _thing_ came out of nowhere. I tried to fight it off, tried to run, but he was so much bigger. He knocked me over and picked me up. I was... I was in his _mouth_.” He clutched at Zach again, burying his face in his neck, and his shaking intensified. “Then Noah came.”

“You’re OK now.” Zach gently removed Chris from his neck and instead held him in the crook of his arm, against his sweater, where he hoped he would be warmer. “Are you hurt?” he asked, wiping the blood from Chris’s face.

“I – I dunno.” He blanched as he saw the blood on Zach’s fingertip. “Am I?” he asked as his lower lip began to tremble.

Zach used his most calming voice. “Doesn’t look serious, but I want to get you cleaned up, OK?”

Chris nodded and Zach lowered him to the bathroom counter, where he sat with his knees drawn up against his chest, looking stricken. Zach helped him get his sweater off to reveal some nasty scrapes – and nothing else – along his right side and shoulder. He found some disinfectant and a cotton swab and cleaned Chris up as gently as he could, then applied a Band-Aid, which completely engulfed his small shoulder, but at least it was covering the worst of it. “I’m sorry, we don’t really have anything smaller.”

Chris didn’t react. 

“Hey, you gonna be OK?”

Chis shook his head as tears formed in his eyes, and Zach picked him up again. “Shh, come on, you’re just in shock,” he soothed, but as soon as he was in Zach’s arms, Chris began to shake even harder. 

“No, no I’m not,” he sobbed into Zach’s collarbone. 

“Yes, you are – come on, we need to get you warmed up.” 

“That’s not what I mean – I’m never going to be OK, am I? I’m going to stay this way forever, until some dog eats me or some fat old lady sits on me and that’ll be it.”

“No, we’re going to find a reason for this,” Zach insisted, feeling shittier the second the words were out.

“I can’t.” He clung even harder to Zach, pushing against him to bury his face in the collar of shirt.

“You’re just shaken up – a good night’s sleep and you’ll be fine.” Chris shook his head. “You’ll be fine!” Zach insisted, going into the bedroom and sitting on the edge of the bed. Chris’s trembling only intensified and he whimpered as he literally pulled Zach’s shirt collar over his head and hid himself.

Zach’s heart broke – there was now no way he could keep what he knew from Chris, no matter what Zoë said. He gently pushed Chris away so that he could look at him – he owed it to him to look him in the eye when he copped to being the cause of this entire crisis. Chris’s face was red and blotchy, and he was in desperate need of a tissue, but Zach ignored it. “Hey, listen, um,” he said, his voice sounding strangely strained and awkward in his ears. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

“You’re leaving me.”

Zach blinked, staring at Chris for probably too long, shocked.

“Oh God, you _aaarrrrre!_ ” Chris wailed.

“What?”

“I can’t say I blame yoo-hoo-hoooo!” He covered his face with both hands.

“Stop it – I am not leaving, Chris!”

“Really?”

“I love you!”

“That’s nice of you to say.”

“I mean it.”

Chris threw his arms around his neck, and this time, Zach thought he could _feel_ bruises forming. “I’m never gonna complain about the dry cleaning again,” he said breathlessly. Zach held him until he fell asleep.

\----

“Hey, Zoë.”

 _“Zach! Oh my God – tell me what happened?!”_ Zoë practically shouted down the phone.

“Chris was attacked by a coyote out in the yard.” Zach winced at her shouted _WHAT?!?_ then went on. “Luckily Noah got out there in time – he chased the thing away.”

“How is he? Is he hurt?”

“He’s really shaken up, but he’s going to be OK. At least, I think he’s going to be OK.”

“Oh no, honey, what?” 

“You had to see him just now, Zo – he was…” Zach had to pause a moment to get his voice under control. The memory of the terror in Chris’s eyes was something he wouldn’t soon forget, nor his own fear when he had seen Chris lying on the ground. “I’ve never seen him like this. He just seemed so broken down, you know? He couldn’t let me go.”

She was silent for a moment, then replied quietly, “That’s what you wanted, though, isn’t it? For Chris to need you?”

“ _Need_ me, not be completely defenseless.”

“You sure about that?”

Zach searched his feelings, all of them that had led up to this. Yes, he wished Chris had demonstrated a need for him, but he realized that the tenor that need took – the way Zach defined it – was thoroughly unsavory. It was selfish, and – yes – controlling. He wanted Chris to look for him for emotional support, respect, and love, not gratitude. Not obligation. He was suddenly ashamed for even thinking it, for wanting Chris to be anything other than what he was, to give anything more than he was willing to give.

“I’m 100% sure. Not that it matters now – getting what I thought I wanted didn’t even work – he’s still a foot tall.”

“Honey, I’m sorry. Call me in the morning, and we’ll figure something else out – maybe we can find a _santero_ who can help us break the curse. But one thing’s for sure – you’re going to have to tell Chris what really happened now. Can you do that?”

“I have to.”

“Love you, honey – sleep well.”

Zach wasn’t sure how likely that was as he tossed his phone onto the couch and settled back wearily. 

He couldn’t believe the unfairness of this whole situation, that his insecurities could cause such harm to one of the most important people in his life. Not only had the moment he’d apparently gotten what he wished for come – Chris’s helplessness and vulnerability earlier in the evening couldn’t have made it more literal – but when it did, Zach found it more than distasteful. The irony made it a very bitter pill to swallow.

Zach sat and stewed over this for an hour before rising wearily and heading upstairs. He undressed in the darkness of the bathroom and headed straight for bed. It was a dark and moonless night – he had to rely on memory of the room’s layout to get him across the room without stubbing a toe. He slid beneath the covers gently, trying to keep his body as close to the edge as possible so his weight in the bed wouldn’t cause Chris to roll over and wake him. Lying on his side, he pulled the covers up to his chin and stared into the blackness until sleep finally came.

“Mmmmm.”

Zach woke what seemed to be a moment later to a breath on the back of his neck and the light brush of lips. Then a hand, warm and _large_ slipped around his waist, pulling him over towards the center of the bed. “Come on, warm me up,” Chris whispered into the space between them.

Scrambling, Zach sat up and switched on the bedside lamp. Turning around, he was astonished to see Chris – a fully restored, regular-sized Chris – lying on the bed squinting up at him against the sudden light.

“Chris!”

“Ow – bright.”

“You’re big!”

Chris reached down and grasped at his crotch. “Yeah, I am.”

Zach gave him a withering look. “You know what I mean.”

“I don’t actually.” 

“I mean that you’re regular sized now – you’re not tiny pocket Chris, like before.”

Chris sat up, looking confused. He reached out and pressed the back of his hand against Zach’s forehead “You feeling OK?”

Zach pushed his hand away and stared at him, confused. He craned his head to the side to look at Chris’s shoulder – the scrapes from the coyote attack were gone. “Was it a dream?”

“Was what a dream? Babe, you’re worrying me.”

Zach ran both hands through his hair, trying to process. “Did we have a fight about dry cleaning?”

Chris’s face transformed, and he looked mildly annoyed. “We did, and I still don’t understand why you have to be such a dick about it. If I don’t take my dry cleaning in, then what difference does it make? It’s such a stupid thing -”

“You’re right,” Zach interrupted.

Chris blinked. “What?”

“I said you’re right – you were right to call me out on that and making you eat healthy things, you were right to say I’m being controlling. It’s not what I mean to do but sometimes I can’t help it.”

“You’re sure you’re OK?” He reached for Zach’s forehead again and Zach batted his hand away. “What? You never admit to being wrong.”

“Well maybe I should.”

“Now I’m calling 911.”

Zach tried to control his frustration. “I had a dream that I wished you would need me more, and then one morning you woke up and you were a foot tall.”

“What, like a doll?”

“An action figure.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know – it was a dream. And you were really kind of kickass at it, which really frustrated me, until you weren’t and then it was just sad because you were so helpless and clingy and it was all my fault.”

“You have to realize I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I’m sorry.”

“About what?”

“Wanting you to need me so much.”

“I always need you.”

Zach stopped what he was about to say and closed his mouth. Chris was looking at him with such love and sincerity, it stole his words.

“Do you think I don’t?”

“Sometimes I don’t feel it, I guess.”

Chris smiled, leaned forward, and kissed him sweetly. “I need you, Zach, all the time, and I love you. Nothing’s going to change that. But I promise to do more to make you feel it.”

Zach smiled at him, relieved. “And I promise to try to be less controlling.”

“Great.” He laid back down in the bed and held his arms out. “Now get over here and keep me warm – I _need_ to snuggle up with you.”

Zach laughed, feeling the weight of regret he’d experienced in his dream lift off of him. He turned the light off, then did as requested, spooning back against Chris’s chest and pulling his arms around himself with a contented sigh. Chris settled his face against Zach’s head, and he pressed his lips against his ear in a soft goodnight kiss.

“Chris?” Zach said after a few quiet moments had passed.

“Hmm?”

“Do you think you might like to get a Captain America uniform? You know, for fun?”

\----

Thank you for your time.


End file.
